Page 19 of Moments of Truth

His chest tightened, resentment and hurt tangling like thorns within him.

He paced the room, each thought feeding the fire.

What went wrong? Why did I not stick to the speech I had prepared?

He had rehearsed it over and over, making sure it would be the perfect balance of practicality and emotion.

Yet, at the moment, his words had crumbled, and he had spoken more of her inferiority and his own struggles than of the love that had driven him to propose.

Women , he thought bitterly, running a hand through his hair. Who can ever truly understand them? One minute, they give you signs of affection—smiles, glances, fleeting moments that hint at shared feelings—and the next, they strike you down with words that leave you raw and reeling.

Darcy stopped, staring at the window, his reflection barely visible in the dim evening light.

Had I misinterpreted her signals? He felt a sharp and unsettling pang of doubt.

Had the moments he had shared with Elizabeth—the conversations, the glances—been nothing?

Or worse, had he foolishly mistaken mere politeness for something deeper?

He cursed himself for not seeing the truth sooner. I should have known better.

His pride, so carefully constructed, now felt brittle and fragile.

He had put himself in such an uncomfortable position, exposing his heart only to have it crushed.

How had he let this happen? Darcy had always prided himself on his control and ability to remain composed, yet with Elizabeth, he had lost that control.

And now I am humiliated but rejected , he thought.

But beneath the anger, a more profound, more painful emotion stirred.

Darcy had allowed himself to be vulnerable and express his true feelings for the first time.

And Miss Bennet had rejected him not just for what he had said, but for who he was—his character, his decisions, his very being.

The thought left him feeling hollow, the weight of his failure pressing down on him as he stood alone in the dim, silent room.

As Darcy stood by the window, the anger that churned within him began to turn inward.

He stared into the night, but his reflection seemed to mock him.

How could I have been so blind? he thought bitterly .

I was so confident that my offer, position, and wealth would be enough to secure her hand.

How arrogant! How blind! I thought myself generous—noble, even—but was it not condescension disguised as kindness?

He grimaced, realizing how harshly his words must have sounded to Elizabeth.

Thank God I did not utter more of her family’s inferiority—what man in his right mind believes that to be a foundation for love?

His own voice echoed in his mind, and the weight of his missteps crashed down on him.

I presented myself as her saviour, her benefactor.

But in truth, I was asking her to accept me out of gratitude and obligation. How wretchedly foolish I have been!

Darcy’s hands clenched into fists. He began pacing again, his steps quick and agitated.

I am an idiot , he cursed himself inwardly.

A fool to imagine that my affections could excuse my behaviour—that my feelings alone might suffice .

Darcy stopped, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

How could I have misjudged her so completely?

He had prided himself on his ability to read people and discern their intentions and feelings, and yet, with Elizabeth, he had failed utterly.

His mind raced back to every word, every glance, every interaction.

Was I so self-absorbed, so blinded by my own feelings, that I saw affection where there was none?

The thought gnawed at him. He had believed Elizabeth shared something with him—some spark, some understanding—but now, it seemed like nothing more than a cruel illusion.

And now I have ruined everything, he thought bitterly . Not only have I exposed myself to ridicule, but I have destroyed any chance of her ever thinking well of me again. How could I have been so reckless? So careless with my words?

The more Darcy thought about it, the more his anger became self-loathing.

“I have been a fool—deluded by my pride, believing that everything I offer should be enough—that anyone ought to be grateful for my attention.

But she was right. His heart ached at the admission.

Elizabeth was right to refuse me. Who would accept such an offer wrapped in arrogance and insult?

Lost in thought and desperately searching for solutions, Mr. Darcy stood in the open doorway without entering.

He had to find a way to repair the wrong.

Surely there was always a path to reconciliation in matters of the heart.

And he did love Miss Elizabeth—that at least was undeniable, the one certainty he could cling to for his future.

They could resolve any misunderstandings and negotiate any conflicting positions.

Mr. Darcy was not lacking in diplomacy. Even an arrogant man might learn the art of persuasion when pressed by love.

Would it not be wise to return to Hunsford and talk to her again in a reasonable manner?

Perhaps Miss Bennet would soften if she heard his version of events; perhaps she would reconsider.

Tomorrow might be too late. It was already late, but the morning—clearer, calmer—might bring counsel.

The night was said to be a good adviser.

He stopped and made the decision to go back to Hunsford in the morning.

Negotiating such a vital matter would not affect his pride; her sense of justice would eventually prevail.

Darcy loved her deeply, and he must surely find some way to mend what was broken. Or perhaps not?

The surge of anger that had fueled him began to ebb, leaving a deep, hollow ache in its place.

The weight of the rejection settled heavily on his shoulders, and a new, darker realization crept over him: he had been rejected—flatly, undeniably.

His first marriage proposal, something he had never imagined going wrong, had ended in utter failure.

His chest tightened at the thought, and he felt a sharp pang of humiliation.

“How do I endure this?” Darcy wondered, his mind unable to grasp what had just happened.

He had never faced such rejection before.

His wealth, status, and carefully cultivated reputation had always shielded him from such blows.

But here, with Elizabeth Bennet, none of that mattered.

She had seen straight through him, and instead of being impressed by his position, she had judged him for who he truly was—and found him lacking.

The sting of her words echoed in his mind.

I have never met a man so consumed by his vanity and blinded by his importance.

And how those words cut him. He had been so certain of his feelings for her, confident Miss Bennet would accept his proposal.

But now, all he felt was a crushing sense of loss.

He loved her—he realized that now, more than ever. And yet, his love had not been enough.

Darcy’s thoughts spiralled downward. What will she say to the others?

He could almost hear Elizabeth recounting the story of his botched proposal to Mrs. Collins.

Her straightforward, unwavering voice would outline every mistake he had made, her words cutting more profound each time they echoed in his mind.

He winced at the thought, imagining Elizabeth’s scornful recounting of how he, in his arrogance, had assumed she would accept his hand without hesitation.

No doubt she will laugh at me , he thought, his stomach sinking further.

How clumsy, how presumptuous I must have seemed .

And what of Georgiana? Sooner or later, word would spread.

Elizabeth would tell her sister, who would tell others, and the entire circle of acquaintances would know before long.

Georgiana will find out , he thought, his heart heavy with shame.

What will she think? His beloved sister, who had always looked up to him, who trusted his judgment so completely—how would she react when she heard that her proud, untouchable brother had been so thoroughly humiliated?

And Lady Catherine? he thought bitterly.

His Aunt had always been sure he would make a wise and calculated match, perhaps even with her daughter.

What would she say when she learned that he had not only proposed to a woman far below his station but had been rejected?

Her scornful reprimands would be unbearable.

Even Colonel Fitzwilliam, his closest confidant, would surely hear of it. Darcy would have to tell him. What would he think? Darcy could almost see his cousin’s raised brow, the unspoken question: How did you, of all people, manage to fail so spectacularly?

The thought of their judgment, knowing glances, and pitying smiles filled Darcy with dread. His failure was not only personal but public. He would become the subject of whispered conversations and quiet laughter. The rejection would stain his reputation in a way he had never anticipated.

How could I face them? he wondered, his heart sinking further into despair. The shame of it all was unbearable. I have been a fool—a blind fool—thinking I was untouchable. But now, he had been touched, deeply wounded, and he was not sure how he would ever recover.